


Comedown

by rokudaime



Category: Naruto
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokudaime/pseuds/rokudaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn’t be simple, would it, serving as a lifeline to someone like Kakashi — talented and burdened in equal measure, both far beyond anything resembling fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comedown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elevensquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevensquared/gifts).



> A very special thanks to Spyed for beta-reading this! See end notes for the prompt.

   
  
Summer in Fire Country rolls in like a storm — humid, volatile, and oppressive. The daylight hours drag and night offers only a slight reprieve from the heat. Those raised in the heart of it — like Iruka, Konoha born and bred — will never be found complaining. The scorching summers and bitter winters are in their blood, as much a part of them as national pride and the Will of Fire.

Tonight Iruka has his window thrown open to let in the faint stirrings of breeze. It rained earlier. He can still smell it in the air. It’s after midnight — though how much after, he can only guess. Only on the weekends can he afford the luxury of not keeping track. These rare nights are entirely his own, and if he wants to lose hours to the pages of a book, then he certainly will. Outside the circle of light cast by his bedside lamp, nothing can reach him.

It’s a curious little novel. A mystery-thriller he picked up at a bookstore on the edge of town. He was in the area visiting a student’s parents (and confirming his hunch that said student was not passing on his progress reports as he should) when the cover caught his eye. Admittedly, it’s a bit tacky — red eyes glowing in the dark, the title spelled out in bloody sword-strokes. But he had a feeling it would be interesting, and it hasn’t let him down. Two-thirds of the way through and he still doesn’t know who’s steadily killing off its cast of characters.

Only when he finds himself rereading the same passage twice, unable to absorb it, does he finally look up from the page. Something’s filtered into his consciousness and become a distraction. It only takes a moment to identify — the silence. Aside from the rustle of wind, there is nothing. Normally, the forest outside is alive with sound, day and night. Not now. Even the crickets have stopped chirping.

Slowly, Iruka stands. He makes his way to the window and peers out at the darkened skyline, the treetops, the empty street below. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary strikes him, apart from the ongoing silence, and a strange ionic charge in the air.

He shuts the window. He switches on another lamp across the room and heads out into the hallway, stopping dead in his tracks at the threshold to the living room.

He’s suddenly glad he hadn’t reached for the light switch next to him.

The room ahead is almost untouched by the glow from down the hall. Only the weak, greenish light from the window opposite him throws the figure into silhouette. It’s a dark blot in the center of the room, and Iruka’s heartbeat quickens, reacting to instinct alone. His body’s screaming  _danger_  but he does not flee this new presence and the aura that surrounds it. He doesn’t move a muscle. If Iruka can feel it, so too can every creature in the vicinity that knows to hide when a predator is near. The unnatural hush doesn’t seem so strange now. He takes a steadying breath and finds the air is tinged with iron and salt, dead leaves and damp earth.

Iruka knows he doesn’t like it when he turns the lights on. He also knows not to take a step forward until they’ve spoken.

“Are you injured?”

The figure only breathes, absolutely quiet. Iruka can just make out the rise and fall of shoulders in the dark.

“Can I check?”

Something shifts; Iruka’s eyes have adjusted enough to see a hint of silver, darkened to gunmetal by the half-light, that moves as Kakashi nods his head. With slow, deliberate steps Iruka closes the distance between them, keeping his hands open and in plain view at his sides. Nothing fast, nothing a threat. When he’s close, he reaches tentatively for the front of his vest.

“Can I take this off?”

The reaction is delayed. Again, Kakashi only nods.

“I’m going to need you to talk to me.”

He raises his head, and Iruka’s breath catches in his throat. The eyes that find his own never fail to cause a reaction. Because as long as they’ve known each other, as long as Iruka’s been his lover and his anchor, he’s only seen them both on nights like this. Because the Sharingan is only used in battle, and anyone else who’s been stared down by its shocking red has seen their life flash before their eyes.

Iruka breathes deeply, and Kakashi finally answers. “Yeah.” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken in days.

Careful fingers unzip his flak jacket, slide it down his arms and off. Iruka can see decently well in the darkness now and he’s scanning every part of him for damage. There’s blood on his shirt, but it isn’t torn. He takes Kakashi’s hand between his own, suppressing a flinch at the excess chakra still crackling through him. He looks it over, then releases it, ignoring the wetness left cooling on his skin.

“How long ago?”

Kakashi’s eyes turn hard, but he overcomes the aversion to answering. “Not long. I came here first.”

Iruka nods, solemn and thoughtful as his gaze lingers on Kakashi’s face. “How long have you been awake?”

The pause is longer this time. “Two days.”

Iruka bites back his scolding for once, and lifts a hand to his cheek instead. It’s only then that Kakashi remembers to close the eye. Iruka can feel the relief running through him, in his chakra flow starting to return to its natural circuit.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he says gently, though stern enough for Kakashi to accept. In the comedown from a mission he is still wired for this: the orders and the follow-through. Sometimes it’s the only way Iruka can keep him from burning out completely. “In the morning, you will report to the Hokage. Tonight, you rest.”

“Yes,” he breathes as Iruka’s arms close around him, halting like a thought unfinished —  _Yes, Taichou, yes, Hokage-sama_. A good soldier.

“You’re tense.” He’s not relaxing like Iruka wishes he would, like he’s usually started to by now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

The answer comes straight away and invites no further inquiry. Iruka pulls away from him, untangling their bodies and chakra, searching for some hint that will tell him how to handle this. How to handle  _him_. It wouldn’t be simple, would it, serving as a lifeline to someone like Kakashi — talented and burdened in equal measure, both far beyond anything resembling fair. Someone whose daily reality consists of walking the razor-thin line between life and death, too often because there’s simply no one else who will do it.

“What do you need?” Iruka asks.

There’s nothing simple about the look he’s fixed with in return. Too guarded for Iruka to decipher much of anything; too steady for it not to be worth interpretation.

“A backrub would be nice.”

Given how long it’s taken Kakashi to voice the request, Iruka is surprised that it’s such an easy one to oblige. He smiles and laces their fingers together, tugging Kakashi towards the futon.

“Sit,” Iruka instructs him as he perches on the edge, and Kakashi settles in front of him on the floor. With some difficulty he gets his shirt off, dropping it carelessly beside him.

“You’re cleaning the tatami,” Iruka mumbles, his hands already starting to work the tension out of Kakashi’s shoulders by the time he gets an affirmative grunt. “God, no wonder you’re so stiff. It’s one big knot. Did you spend the  _entire_  mission up in a tree?”

“Basically, yeah.”

He’d been joking, but he doesn’t find it so funny now. And here he was, relaxing at home all night, taking the comfort of his own bed for granted. He works his way lower, digging in deeper with his thumbs, and is rewarded with a moan low in Kakashi’s throat.

And that hitches his breath for an entirely different reason.

But Iruka is nothing if not professional, and he’s determined to stay on task. There’s not much he can do for the mental aftereffects of these grueling, violent missions. At the very least, he’ll deal with the physical ones. Though he’s a shinobi himself, and his hands are roughened by years and weapons, they can be gentle when they need to be. It’s a healer’s steady focus that comes over him, and he doesn’t even notice the subtle chakra charge he’s running through them until they come to rest on Kakashi’s lower back and he takes in how absolutely relaxed the man in front of him is now. Satisfied with his work, he’s about to straighten up when Kakashi turns his head.

Their eyes meet for the space of a heartbeat, and all the air seems to vanish from the room. Iruka only has time to let out a shaky breath before Kakashi is rising up from the floor and leaning over him, lips finding his with the kind of quiet desperation that makes Iruka’s chest ache. He lets himself be pushed against the cushions, lets bloodstained hands pull at his clothing until they’re skin-to-skin and the summer heat has nothing on the fire they’ve started.

It’s almost dawn by the time they lie sated, breathing evenly in the silence. Iruka’s last drowsy thought is that he’d like to sleep in his bed, but that would require moving, and waking Kakashi up, and he doesn’t have the heart for it. Not when Kakashi is finally at peace.

He closes his eyes instead and lets the moment last.

 

 

At the kitchen table, bathed in sunlight, Iruka sips at a cup of green tea with book in hand. He’s picked up where he left off the night before, and this time he’s ninety percent sure he knows who’s behind the slayings. It  _must_  be the daimyo’s daughter — but again his attention’s diverted before he can find out.

Kakashi wanders into the kitchen in search of food, fresh from the shower. He’s shirtless, but that’s not exactly why Iruka is staring.

“Anything to eat?”

“There’s some leftovers you can heat up,” Iruka offers. “Red container.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Iruka slowly swallows a mouthful of his tea, his eyes never leaving Kakashi’s back as the other man scans the contents of the fridge. “So when you’re doing mission reports,” Iruka starts delicately, “and you put down ‘no injuries’… do they check?”

Kakashi closes the door with his foot and hops up onto the counter, starting to eat directly from the dish. “No,” he answers through a mouthful of rice. “They don’t.” He finishes the bite and swallows, eyeing Iruka like he’d just asked him to convert currency in his head. “Why?”

Iruka takes the time to finish his tea before answering, not meeting Kakashi’s eye.  _Because I can only imagine how awkward it would be to explain those scratches on your back to the medic-nin. Or the Hokage._

“No reason.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a hard time choosing which prompt to go with — more than one of them looked like a lot of fun. In the end, I went with this:
> 
> _Touchstone - classic hurt/comfort of the "Iruka is Kakashi's touchstone" variety. That slightly dark edge to Kakashi after a mission with Iruka knowing and reveling in the danger and able to bring Kakashi back to earth, with some sexiness thrown in, yes please!_
> 
> Elevensquared, I really do hope you enjoy as much as I did writing it!


End file.
